


Ready the Sails

by yinghuochong



Series: Broken Compass [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Blood and Violence, Chan is Cursed, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Family Loss, Guns, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Killing, Knives, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Pirates, Polyamory, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sailing, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Suffering, Swords, learning to love, rescuing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 16:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18264800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yinghuochong/pseuds/yinghuochong
Summary: “Take me, instead.” He bargained.More laughter erupted from the crew. He opened his mouth to tell them that he was a hard worker and a quick learner, but he was cut off by the commander.“Very well.” The laughter died down.“W-what?” He sputtered, suddenly what he had offered sank in.“Changing your mind so soon? No one backs out of deals with me.”“I'm not backing out. I just didn't thi--it’s just tha--I'm not that experienced working on a ship.”“You don't need experience.” His stomach churned at the tone, “The crew will teach you in no time.”---------Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean





	Ready the Sails

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who just re-watched some of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. I know the tags seem pretty dark but I promise that things will get significantly better. Besides, it's better to over tag than to not use enough. I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable reading this, so I went a bit overboard on the tags but that is just because it is important to warn reader before hand.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! As always, please leave comments because I love to read them.
> 
> Also, don't despair. I haven't abandoned any of my other series, I am just having a bit of a writer's block with those story lines. I promise I will get back to them soon -- especially the "Resolve" series.

 

_Ready the sails, hoist the anchor_

_Chart our course, face the horizon and_

_Take me to the edge of the world_

 

\---------

 

“What about this?” He could hear his own voice shake, holding out a fistful of his mother's jewelry.

 

There was nothing left to give. His father and older brothers had perished merely days ago, leaving the fate of their family in his hands.

 

“Please,” he begged, “it's all I have to offer.”

 

He was backed up to the front door of his home, guns trained on him while his mother and younger siblings cowered somewhere inside.

 

“My father and brothers never returned. I don't have any more to trade and no way to get any. I've already given you everything we have left.”

 

“You shouldn't tell lies.” The corrupted ship's commander tutted, extending a palm for him to place the jewels and chains in.

 

His heart ached as the uniformed man looked over his mother's wedding ring. It was her most cherished item, yet she did not hesitate to give it up for their survival. He felt his heart drop as the precious diamond disappeared into the pocket of pleated pants.

 

“We both know that this, alone, will not fit the bill. Perhaps one of your sisters can help you reach your quota.”

 

“No!” Ice cold fear struck his core. “Please, no. They’re too young. My mother would not be able to handle more loss.”

 

He must have looked utterly pathetic because the members of the royal navy simply roared in laughter. It echoed crudely throughout his seemingly empty village. Everyone had already escaped the wrath of these men, having satisfied their demands, and locked their doors with the knowledge that they were allowed to live this time around.

 

His family was always at the end of the agenda and they usually had more than enough. With his family's boat lost beneath the waves, though, he had no way to gather more. No one would trade with him because they knew that their haul was the key to survival and, therefore, more valuable than gems or gold. He had a bitter taste on his tongue, noting how his neighbors did not come to his aid despite all the times his family shared their catch to ensure their safety.

 

“Take me, instead.” He bargained.

 

More laughter erupted from the crew. He opened his mouth to tell them that he was a hard worker and a quick learner, but he was cut off by the commander.

 

“Very well.” The laughter died down.

 

“W-what?” He sputtered, suddenly what he had offered sank in.

 

“Changing your mind so soon? No one backs out of deals with me.”

 

“I'm not backing out. I just didn't thi--it’s just tha--I'm not that experienced working on a ship.”

 

“You don't need experience.” His stomach churned at the tone, “The crew will teach you in no time.”

 

With a single hand gesture from the commander, there were two bulky men flanking him, iron grips around his wrists.

 

“Wait,” he panicked. “Let me say goodbye.” He tugged uselessly. “At least let me say goodbye.” His pleas were ignored as they dragged him towards the shore, tears lining his eyes.

 

He did his best not to cry while his home shrank in the distance. His arms had been bound and his head hung in sorrow. He couldn't even pretend there was any hope of him returning. He would die at sea in either a firefight or by casting himself over the side.

 

He glanced towards the ship, trying to spot an ideal location to plunge to his death from. One of the men seemed to be signaling to their boat with arms waving. The commander fired a shot in the air.

 

His ears rang from being so close. That was the first time he had ever actually heard a gunshot before. He was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of it. As if on cue, an explosion came from the ship. He tilted his head in confusion. Surely that bullet could not have hit the hull. He despaired when the first cannonball soared over their heads.

 

He followed it with his gaze, heart stopping when it struck the house his father had built when his parents first married. It overlooked the sea, just how his mother had wanted, so she could see when he was coming home. It crumbled to the ground, much like the way his heart did in his chest, as the ship continued to fire. He couldn't hear himself sob or the crew laugh at him. All that filled his mind was the image of his mother dying to shield his younger siblings. They gagged him, but it didn't stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks.

 

He landed on his knees at the feet of the commodore, eyes stinging from crying and arms sore from the ropes. A rough hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to come face to face with the other. The man looked rather honorable with a clean, royal navy uniform adorned with expensive buttons and intricate threading. He felt sick knowing that no one would suspect corruption in a man dressed so nicely -- perfectly concealed by such a pleasant mask.

 

“Beautiful,” the commodore commented, eyes tracing his features and roaming his body, “we won't be selling this one. Well done. Take him to my quarters.”

 

He was hauled to his feet and lead into a lavish cabin filled with maps and treasures. In the corner of the room was the commodore’s bed, plush and luxurious. Set into the wall beside it was a small alcove, complete with a mattress and a place that could count as the facilities. That was where he was deposited, a metal cuff locking around his ankle to chain him to the wall. His arms were untied, and he was left alone to stare through the bars while mournful sobs racked his body.

 

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he was woken up by the sound of the lock. He opened his eyes to see the commodore standing in the doorway of his cell.

 

“Get on the bed.”

 

When he didn't move, a gun was drawn. He scrambled to obey, wiping at the dried tears on his face.

 

“Undress.”

 

Slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt. Dissatisfied at his pace, the commodore ripped off his clothes and pressed his naked body onto the bed by his throat.

 

“I would suggest that you learn how to move quicker because I am not a patient man. Do you understand?” He nodded in response. “Answer me.”

 

“Y-yes, I understand.” He murmured.

 

“Yes, what?”

 

He frowned, not knowing the answer. He let out a small cry when a hand connected with his cheek.

 

“I said, ‘yes, what?’”

 

He shook his head slightly, cradling the side of his face.

 

“Try, 'yes, master.’”

 

“Yes, m-master.”

 

“Good.” Fingers brushed his thigh, “I am going to show you what you are good for.”

 

He squirmed nonstop, weeping through the pain. His wrists were secured to the wooden frame of the bed, his legs held open as the commodore ruthlessly drove into him. He wailed initially when the other entered, feeling as if he was being split apart. The raw burn only got worse the longer he laid there, unable to think of anything aside from praying for his life to end. He felt nauseous at the realization that one of his younger sisters could have been subjected to this torment. Suddenly, he was thankful it was him instead of them, but he still thought death would be a better fate.

 

By the time the commodore was satisfied, he was covered in sweat and the other's release. It was sickening to feel the other kiss his neck in a post orgasm high. He couldn't sleep with the other snoring in his ear, arms wrapped around him. He wanted to go sit in his tiny room, because then he would be by himself. By the time morning came, he was stiff, and he ached all over. He was locked back up in his cell, collapsing onto the thin mattress in exhaustion.

 

He didn't consume any of his rice or water, hoping he would waste away before his master returned. Upon seeing his provisions untouched, he was ordered to eat. When the other realized he was seeking death, the chain around his leg was taken off. The commodore grabbed him harshly by the throat, fingers also twisting painfully in the back of his hair.

 

“I let you sleep in my bed and this is how you thank me? By defying me? By refusing to eat?” The other spat in his face, “I will show you just how gracious I have been by locking you up in here.”

 

Without another word, he was dragged out of the cabin and onto the balcony that overlooked the main deck. The crew fell silent, immediately staring at his bare body.

 

“I'm feeling generous today,” the commodore declared, “he is yours for the night. Use him as you please. I expect him to be outside my cabin come sunrise.”

 

The commander approached them, hungrily eyeing him before taking him from his master and bringing him below deck. He grit his teeth while being bent over the first crate they came across. He did his best to focus on his breathing rather than the sound of skin slapping against skin. He cried out when the other bit his shoulder so hard he could feel blood spouting from the wound.

 

He was brought back to the main deck, facing the crew that would all but destroy him. The commander chortled at the way he backed up nervously, unable to go far with a broad hand encasing his neck while another was clamped onto his wrist. For a moment, everything was still. The only evidence that time wasn't frozen came from the sound of the waves crashing below them and the wind whipping through the sails.

 

The spell was broken when he was shoved towards the crew. If the commander was hungry, these men were starving. They swarmed him like sharks drawn to chum, all but tearing his skin off trying to get a hold of him. The way they fought over him was disgustingly animalistic, growling and clawing at each other like he was a piece of fresh meat. The touches were far from gentle as they raked their nails across his skin in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. There was shouting and fighting, a stray knife running across the side of his thigh by accident. His injured leg buckled beneath him, bringing him to the ground.

 

They pinned him against the wooden deck, the first sea men entering him cruelly and without warning. He could feel himself convulse, his body rejecting the intrusion. It was no use, writhing only made it all the more painful. Before he knew it, his lips were forced apart and he was choking on someone’s length. He couldn’t hold back his tears, drained of all strength and unable to do anything beyond whimpering. He couldn’t even count how many men had been inside him, losing all feeling at some point during the long night while falling in and out of consciousness.

 

At dawn’s first light, he was left in a heap before the door of the commodore’s quarters -- broken and hollow. He was grateful, though, as it was the first moment of rest in hours and there wasn’t anything being pushed into him. Through his blurred vision, he could see cuts and scrapes littering his skin. Bruises were beginning to form, points on his neck aching and areas swelling. There were rope burns pulsing around his wrists and ankles.

 

As his eyes closed, he saw flashes of the night before. He flinched at the haunting pain of two cocks ramming into his hole at the same time, suddenly hyper aware of the blood dried on his inner thighs. He tried to picture his family in hopes that they could chase the horrors away, but there was no use. That night would be seared into his memory for the rest of his miserable life. He cried silently, unable to shed any tears from extreme dehydration and exhaustion. He could hear the door swing open, feeling himself being lifted before he succumbed to the darkness.

 

He awoke on his master’s sheets, open wounds dressed, and the revolting layer of bodily fluids cleaned off. The leader of the ship sat at the wooden desk across the room, studying a map.

 

“If you do not wish to repeat last night,” The man said evenly, not looking up from his papers, “I would suggest that you do exactly as I say.” In a few strides, the commodore was standing at the edge of the bed, a hand holding his cheeks and looking down at him. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Yes, master.” He replied, immediately.

 

“Such a beautiful slut.” The other's free hand combed through his hair softly.

 

He couldn't help but lean into the touch, welcoming the gentleness of it.

 

“Now, be a good pet and eat your meal.”

 

He whined when his master withdrew the hands that were caressing him, bringing the other to chuckle.

 

“You like it when I'm nice?” He nodded shyly, wincing at the sudden, tight grip in his hair. “Well, in order for you to get something, you must give something first. Finish your food and we'll see what you need to do to deserve my nice side.”

 

It was sick, and he knew it. He just couldn't help but crave the soft touches and praises the commodore would give him occasionally. He had to endure a lot of torture to earn it. He didn't want it for pleasure, not even understanding what the word meant, but he desired it because it felt familiar and, in a twisted way, like affection.

 

A kiss on the forehead like his mother used to give him. A pat on the head or the ruffling of his hair was so much like the way his older brothers showed him love. A single word of praise from his father could have carried him away like a leaf in the wind. One of his younger sisters always loved to touch his lips while the other preferred his cheeks, both equally fascinated by the softness of skin. His younger brother was too young to do anything significant, but he loved to kiss the baby's pudgy face.

 

It was memories like those that made him so desperate for his master’s sweet caresses. If he obeyed every order, or took everything like a good pet, then he could indulge himself on a single, gentle gesture. There were times, though, where he couldn't feel one for days. Sometimes it didn't matter how well behaved he was being, and it depended on the other’s mood. He would just have to sit in his cell and wait, crestfallen knowing that he wouldn't feel comfort that day.

 

The commodore not only used his body for personal pleasure, but also rented him out to allies or included a night with him in deals. He would have to sit prettily at the feet of his master while the negotiation took place. If the opponent or ally kept glancing at him, he would be offered as compensation for cooperation or even in deception. He had been “gifted” a few times where he was tasked with getting his temporary master fuck him until complete exhaustion. Then, the royal navy men would board the ship and capture its captain who was too drunk off sex to fight back. Those were not his favorite orders, but he typically received the best rewards if everything went smoothly. He hated punishments the most. They were few and far between but when they did occur, they were brutal, and he never deserved them.

 

He had lost all strength in his legs, the rope around his wrists was the only thing holding him up. If it weren’t for the hook in the wall, he would have surely crumpled into a pile on the floor.

 

“Please,” he begged, “I didn’t do anything. He came in and touched _me_. I was sleeping, I swear. I didn’t invite him in, he broke in.”

 

Leather whistled through the air, cracking against his skin.

 

“Master, _please_ ,” His skin was on fire, every fresh stripe pulsing and streams of scarlet dripping down his back, “I would never betray you. Please, no more. I can’t take anymore.”

 

“That’s not for you to decide.” Another lash forced his body to spasm, “You will take what I give you.”

 

“I-I can’t,” He had blood running from his split lip and tears falling from his eyes, he pressed his forehead to the wall in front of him and sobbed, whispering, “ _Please_ , master. I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know.”

 

“I don’t believe you.” A new wound joined the plethora that littered his shoulder blades. “Who do you belong to?”

 

“You,” he slurred.

 

“Speak up or you’ll get more, whore.”

 

“You.” He repeated much louder, “I belong to you, master. I am entirely yours, I live to please you.”

 

“That’s right. Know your worth, slut. You are mine and mine alone. No one else can touch you unless _I_ say. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, master.”

 

“Let it happen again and your suffering will increase tenfold.”

 

The moment he was unhooked, he collapsed onto the ground.

 

“On your knees.”

 

He curled into a ball as soon as he was allowed back into his cell. He could feel the fresh blood soak into the mattress from his wounds reopening. He was sore from standing so long and from choking on the commodore’s length. He hoped he would bleed out and that would be it, thinking that there was no way he would wake up as he drifted off.

 

He awoke to the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and shouting. For the first time since he had been enslaved, a battle had broken out on the ship. They had never been boarded before. He didn’t know how long the fight had been going on, but the noises sounded as if they were beginning to die down. He wondered if the ship would sink and if drowning would be painful. He hoped it wasn’t, but he had already gone through a lot, so it wouldn’t be anything new. He wanted it to be as quick as possible.

 

The cabin door swung open. The commander was supporting the commodore as the two of them, plus a few other crew members, entered, stumbling. They locked and barricaded themselves in. The commodore had suffered a nasty gash on his side while the commander had several cuts on his arms and a wound on his head. The remaining navy men aimed their rifles at the entrance, ready to fire.

 

There was a knock at the door. It seemed out of place in comparison to the circumstances, bringing confused, horrified looks onto their faces. They had clearly never encountered something like this during their time at sea. No one moved or made a sound, the room frozen while the ship rocked on the waves. Another round of knocking. Whoever these intruders were, seemed polite in an ironic sort of way. Silence ensued once again, and it was unnerving.

 

In a wave of gunfire, the surviving sailors fell -- leaving only the commodore and the commander standing. The pair backed away from the door and the new bullet holes that smoked in the floorboards, pistols drawn. The glass to the window shattered and the commander’s lifeless body slumped to the ground, a clean shot to the head.

 

The top of the door glowed a bright red as something hot and liquid began eating the wood as it traveled downwards. The commodore raised a gun in a final attempt to fight back. As his master’s finger curled to pull the trigger, the hand that held the pistol seemed to explode with a spray of blood. The hand that had brought him so much pain was reduced to nothing -- it was satisfying.

 

The door continued to melt, revealing several figures. Two entered with rifles drawn, aiming them at the commodore. A third person stepped in, face partially veiled by the brim of his hat, with strides that exuded confidence and power.

 

“Excuse me,” the stranger said, voice smooth like cream, “Are you the captain of this ship?”

 

“Who are you to ask me that?” His master snarled back.

 

“Where are my manners, allow me to introduce myself.” The newcomer bowed deeply, pulling off his hat in a grand gesture, with a mischievous smile on his handsome face. “The name is Bang Chan. I am captain of the Strayward Soul and I am here to slaughter every corrupted member of the royal navy.”

 

The tone was light and airy, despite the gruesome words. It gave him chills. The young pirate captain brushed a hand through his blonde hair before putting his hat back in place. The hoops dangling from his earlobes caught the light as he looked around the room, silver eyes landing on a display case of treasures.

 

“Woojin,” he called. A man with caramel colored skin stepped into the cabin, a sharp jawline, dark eyes, and a toned chest that could be seen through the rips in his blood-stained shirt. “Have Jeongin and Seungmin restock from below. Bring me Hyunjin, please.”

 

His master narrowed his eyes at Bang Chan, lips curled in a sneer.

 

“Make no mistake, _boy_. You have no idea what you’re going up against. The royal navy will obliterate you and your little band of school boys. You may think you are pirates but you're nothing but lost children pursuing a fight they can’t win. You will all perish.”

 

“Well isn’t that nice.” Bang Chan didn’t seem even remotely bothered as he turned his attention back to the wounded man, “Now, are you or are you not the captain of this ship?”

 

The commodore spit towards the other’s boots.

 

“Wow,” Bang Chan chuckled, “This is the first true coward I think we’ve encountered. What do you think, boys? Every other one we’ve killed owned up to their title immediately. You must be well aware of your crimes then. Do they weigh heavily on you? What would the crown do if they knew you raped and pillaged beneath their colors? They’d hang you for treason and you’d die a traitor. You should be thanking me for sparing your reputation. You’re far worse than any pirate. We at least have the courage to sail beneath our own flag instead of tarnishing someone else’s.”

 

The young pirate captain walked the room, pointing at various things while a couple of his members followed him to pick up whatever he wanted. One of his boys picked the lock to the desk, “Thank you, Felix. The wardrobe next, please.” The smaller blonde gave a toothy grin before moving on to break into the wardrobe. Bang Chan was squinting at a faded map, ultimately deciding to roll it up and take it.

 

“Captain,” a deep voice boomed, the boy named Felix was running his fingers across tattered flags that hung where clothes should have been. “Are these all from ships they’ve conquered?”

 

“Yes, but this one,” The pirate leader crossed the floor, reaching for a flag that must have seemed out of place to him. “This didn’t belong to a ship. What are you doing raiding fishing boats? Don’t you filth steal enough from villages when you invade them?”

 

The navy commodore nodded over towards the barred prison, “Where do you think I got him from?”

 

“You sank his fishing boat?” Felix asked.

 

“No. Does he look like a fisherman?” The sailor laughed maniacally, “I sank his _father’s_ fishing boat.”

 

Grief washed over him, a cold chill striking him in the chest and making him sick to his stomach.

 

“Why?” Bang Chan prompted, fist clenched. When the navy man made no move to elaborate, the pirate captain calmly crossed the room and sank a knife into his leg, twisting it like a screw. “Tell me.”

 

“For years,” the wounded commodore struggled, gasping and groaning from the pain, “his village has provided us with things like abalone, scallops, fish, and other goods. His father always had enough to meet our demands, so we let the family live. He was too delicious to resist though, and I knew he never went out on the water. So, when we sent his father and older brothers to Davy Jones’ locker, he would be left defenseless. It was easier than I had thought it would be. He practically volunteered to join my crew to keep his family safe. Then we killed them too.”

 

The young captain grit his teeth, fire flickering in his eyes and anger visible on his face. Before he could respond, though, another stranger stepped through the door with the one called Woojin. This one had black hair and eyes bluer than the sapphires that his mother used to own with a long body and plump lips.

 

“Captain, you wanted to see me?”

 

“Hyunjin, yes.” Bang Chan smiled kindly towards the other boy, expression replacing the fury he was wearing merely seconds before, “Is that him?”

 

Hyunjin took a few steps closer, “I’m not sure, I can’t see his eyes.”

 

“Look at him, coward.” Bang Chan ordered, “Look him in the face.”

 

At the snap of fingers, Woojin marched forward to grab a fistful of the commodore’s hair and forcing him to look up at Hyunjin. The blue-eyed boy backed away, grief clouding his expression, nodding his head.

 

“Yes, it was him. He killed my family and sold me as a sex slave.”

 

“It looks like you’re not the only one. He doesn’t deserve another moment of life.” Bang Chan was baring his teeth. “Do you want to do it, Hyunjin?”

 

“No, captain. I want to watch him bleed to death the way my parents did.”

 

Woojin drew a knife, running it across his master’s chest and plunging it into the junction where neck meets shoulder. Not one of the pirates flinched as the royal navy commodore bled out onto his own bed. When the body finally fell still, Hyunjin released a shaky breath. A single tear fell. Woojin turned directly towards the cell, dark gaze piercing through the bars. He backed farther into the wall, curling in on himself nervously.

 

In a few minutes, the iron bars were gone, and the small blonde named Felix was picking the lock around his ankle with quick, tiny fingers. Hyunjin had brought him a shirt to wear, offering a small, bittersweet smile. Bang Chan was crouched before him, hand outstretched like he was reaching for a cornered animal. When the other brushed the hair away from his face, his body relaxed a little as the blonde stroked one of his cheeks softly with the back of a hand. He could feel himself lean into the touch, nuzzling his face in a request for more.

 

“It’s alright.” The young captain reassured, “You’re safe now. We won’t let anyone hurt you like this again. I promise. What is your name?”

 

“Minho.”

 

“Minho,” his new captain tested the name out, showing off a dimpled smile, “I like that name. Welcome to the Strayward Soul. First mate, Woojin, ready the sails. We’re taking Minho home with us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again!


End file.
